


Flesh and Blood

by ausmac



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 06:00:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15136661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausmac/pseuds/ausmac
Summary: Don't ask me, I have no idea where this one came from.  I just felt the need for some hot Garrosh action...





	Flesh and Blood

From his position on top of the main front wall of Orgrimmar, Garrosh Hellscream surveyed the land around him through a goblin-made telescope. It was a warm day in early summer; inshore winds from the sea created multiple small pillars of swirling dust across Durotar's red plains, and the sun was pleasant on his skin. He moved the telescope closer to the road outside, noting a tauren caravan being inspected by the city guards, then further down the wall to where a repair crew were working on a section of damaged wall.

As he focused on the peons he stopped and refined his view. One of them was paler and slightly smaller than the others and his eyes narrowed.

He'd put his slave to work during the day, assigning him to the general city slave squad, but with specific orders. No excessive or unwarranted physical punishment, no permanent injury or death. Other than that, he was to be treated as any other worker. And it was obvious he was being worked hard.

Kodo teams were hauling wagons filled with rocks from the nearby hills. They were unloaded near the wall where stonemasons broke and shaped them to replace the damaged wall stones. The work teams then carried the stones to the walls where they were fitted in by more stonemasons. Some of the stones were comfortably small, no more than orc-fist sized, but many were much larger. While an orc peon, built and accustomed to physical labour, could carry one of the big stones easily, for a human it was different matter.

Varian Wrynn was strong for a human male, perhaps the strongest, but the weight of those rocks was difficult even for him.

The stonemasons didn’t seem to be giving him any particularly difficult ones but even so he staggered under the load and, as Garrosh watched, almost dropped the one he was carrying. Somehow the held onto it, walking with obvious effort to the wall. He let it fall near the side of a large pile and one of the masons snarled at him. Probably a warning not to crack it, Garrosh thought, and he saw the man's head nod with a slow, weary movement before he turned away to walk slowly back to the wagon.

Wrynn was, as always, a fascinating study. Garrosh watched him for a good half hour, studying the man's strength and resilience. He didn't appear to speak, didn't argue with any orders he was given, he just took the rocks, grimly struggled to the wall, placed them down and returned for more. The Warchief could almost feel the strain and ache of his back and arms but the man didn't stop and he didn't ask for anything. He just kept going through the hot dry morning.

The crew took a rest break and sat down in the shade of the wagon. Water was handed around but nothing else; the regular crew provided their own food but Wrynn had been given nothing. So he simply sat with his back to the wagon and stretched out his legs. A few minutes later one on the female orc peons stood, gathered something from her leather food pack and placed it on the ground next to him. She nodded as he opened his eyes, then went back to her own place. The other peons noted it but made no response; Garrosh knew they recognised the human slave and would normally sneer at the weaker man, but they would see his determination, his lack of complaint and his efforts to do his share. Orcs respected strength and courage, and Varian Wrynn had plenty of both.

The Warchief tapped the telescope closed and placed it back in its holder thoughtfully. He'd enjoyed taking sexual possession of the Alliance Warchief, both for its physical pleasure and for the coup it represented. It was the sort of dominance anyone could understand, the ultimate sign of ownership. It was humiliation on the most basic level, to be made to serve an orc in such an intimate way. He'd suffered, certainly, but he'd never begged and hardly made any sound beyond the occasional groan. In time, over the days and weeks of his use, his body had adapted somewhat. The healers had helped in that, stretching his flesh and muscles with the healing, making him more open and stronger but still, it had to hurt.

But he was a warrior with a lifetime of taking hurts and whatever he might feel to be so degraded, he'd never begged. He was almost worthy of Garrosh's respect. Almost. Yet whatever else he might be, he was Garrosh's property and as such he would be cared for in the same way as the Warchief's wolf or axe. Garrosh signalled for one of his personal troops.

"When his work shift is over, take my slave to the bathing rooms and have him cleaned, and shave that hair off his face. In fact, tell the barber to shave him all over, he's too hairy. And have his head hair cut short too. Deliver him to my rooms afterwards."

His evening meal was being served when he saw Wrynn again. His slave was ushered into his private eating room and it was a very different looking man from the one he'd seen that morning. He was clean, skin stripped of excess hair, wearing a clean leather loin wrap with his normally long dark hair cut short at the sides and back and only a few pieces hanging down over his face. The numerous scars and bruises showed more clearly against his clean skin but he still stood straight, despite his obvious weariness.

The three other orcs present watched him, smiles quirking their lips up at his appearance. "He looks like a tamed dog now, Warchief," Markesh said, wiped one hand across his mouth. "And a good mount, so I hear."

Wrynn didn't react to the comment but kept his eyes fixed on Garrosh, blinking now and then in the warm yellow torchlight. Garrosh indicated a spot next to himself on the floor where a fur pad was set. Wrynn stepped around the table and sat in a graceful slide of his long legs and a slight wince as he moved his back. Garrosh ran a hand down the man's back, felt the bunched, warm muscles there.

"Sore from a hard day's work?" His fingers dug into the swollen muscle and Wrynn hissed and twitched.

"Yes, dammit!"

Garrosh grunted and loosened his grip. "Kings mustn’t do much real work."

"Do Warchiefs?"

There was no insolence in the tone but still, it was close to it and Garrosh moved his hand down Wrynn's arm to where the iron bracelets were set on the man's wrist. "Careful." He grasped the metal band and slowly pulled the arm behind the man's back, twisting the swollen shoulder muscles. Just enough pain to centre his attention. "Do I need to…?"

"No. You know you don’t."

No, he didn't. There were around twenty five human prisoners in a work camp in Ashenvale, chief among them being Wrynn's son. They worked the forests there, bringing in much-needed wood and the young ex-Prince was permitted to act as a healer to keep his fellow humans healthy. Those two particular humans were connected by a long, sensitive link created by his shamans and mages: what pain was felt by one was shared by the other, if the pain was sufficiently powerful. It was a uniquely useful tool.

"Good." He let the arm go and sat back, leaning against the high wooden back of his chair. "Now eat, and behave yourself."

Conversations resumed and Garrosh discussed his current plans with his sub-leaders. Markesh was in charge of training and reported on recruitment and the current status of the army. Delanth, his powerful Tauren/Orc crossbreed, was his liaison with the other races of the Horde and was working with the Blood Elves to clean up their territory and repair their capital. Timlon, his current sexual partner and personal mage, dealt with matters of a non-military nature such as taxes and trade. She seemed to enjoy dealing with the goblins which always puzzled Garrosh. But he didn’t object to it since it meant he didn’t have to.

Wrynn sat cross-legged on his fur pad eating small portions of what was placed near him. He seemed to enjoy the roasted fowl best and stripped most of single chicken, licking his fingers clean like a civilized person.

Once the talks were done they got down to the serious business of drinking, singing and storytelling. Someone produced some dice and some noisy gambling took place with money and slaves trading hands. In time their money and energy ran low and Garrosh dismissed them for the night, well satisfied with the mood and morale of his people. It was a good time to be an Orc. Alone finally, he glanced down to his side to find that Wrynn had fallen asleep on his mat, head resting on the table leg, a half-eaten chicken leg still held in one hand. Garrosh reached out a foot and nudged him away and the man straightened with a grunt, uncurling himself and blinking up at Garrosh in the dim light.

The Warchief nodded to the side of the room. "Get the oil."

That brought him awake. All expression vanished from the scarred face as he stood and dropped the food onto the table and headed for the indicated small set of cupboards against the wall. He opened it, took out a ceramic cork-sealed flask and returned. As he'd stood Garrosh had already undone his belt buckle, pulled the belt off and begun to unfasten the ties on his pants. Wrynn needed no instructions at that point; he'd already removed his loin wrap when he returned, and dragged the fur mat to the floor in front of Garrosh's spread legs.

Wordless, Wrynn uncorked the flash and poured a generous amount of the contents onto his hands, putting the flask aside. He began to work it, warming it and covering both palms with it. Then he leant forward and collected Garrosh's cock front inside his open pants.

Garrosh leant backwards, closed his eyes and sighed. The oil, that his alchemist had named Silverstroke, tingled as it was smoothed over his organ by Wrynn's callused hands. It served multiple purposes: lubrication and stimulation. And it not only stimulated him, it also worked on his slave. Even as he squeezed and worked on the hardening cock Garrosh knew he was also becoming aroused. When he was taken, the pain he would experience would trigger an equally strong pleasure. It was, perhaps, an unnecessary added side effect, but it too served a purpose. It was satisfying to know that Wrynn had come to desire his own degradation, for it was addictive for humans. Deny it as he might, Wrynn would enjoy every moment of his abuse and crave it's recurrence.

_Pain and pleasure as one. What a strange feeling it must be to not know which is more shameful, the pain or the desire for it…_

He felt those hairless thighs slide up into his lap and half-opened his eyes to see Wrynn rise up above his groin. Wrynn had Garrosh's cock in one hand and the other was twisted behind him to open and lubricate himself. Eyes closed, lips curled into something that could have been anticipation or dread, he lowered himself slowly onto the broad tip. But Garrosh had no patience with a slow start and he heaved himself upwards, burying himself into Wrynn's arse. He surged up and the man pushed down and for a moment he wasn't sure who was riding whom. The man's chest heaved as his head dropped back, mouth open, gasping, arms waving for balance until Garrosh took hold of them, his own hands smothering the iron-ringed wrists.

If there was a pleasure more intense than this, he wasn't sure what it could be. Tight heat wrapped around him, Wrynn shuddered and groaned, his own arousal building. It went on for some time as Garrosh slowed and dropped, then surged and thrust until he was buried deep in the slick depths of the man's body. Wrynn climaxed first, gave a choked shout and came, his body pulsing around Garrosh's cock. It was enough, that inner muscular grasping, to bring Garrosh to his own conclusion and he shouted in pleasure as he emptied himself into Varian Wrynn's body.

He pulled Wrynn to him and ran a tusk along the scarred shoulder until blood seeped over the damp skin. Garrosh licked the blood away, delighted as always by the coppery tang of blood and intermingled sweat and pleasure, by the scent of their sex in the air like a hot desert wind. Did his son sense that, he wondered, as he held onto the man until the sweet tingling pleasure faded. If he did, he would doubtless wonder what violence was being done to his father, and just how odd it was that an orc could be such a subtle torturer.


End file.
